The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot -- say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance -- literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
----A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens
I bring that up only because I like it so much.
With great certainty I can write, "There hasn't be a single work day since Thanksgiving (US style) that I haven't thought I'd have been better off staying at my old job and just being. Odds are also pretty damned good that I've had the same thought on the weekends, too. With the possible exception of Christmas Day." and mean every single word.
My job exhausts me. I used to think that it was just my boss, but he's just a major part of it. How do I know this? Well, he's been gone all week.
With the jackass at work, I feel like I'm being constantly monitored for any little mistake. I misspell a name and I'm going to be called into his office and have to sign a letter of expectations. I'm in the bathroom when he needs me I'll get a talking to. I go to a staff meeting not ready to take the minutes when I haven't been told that I am the one who needs to take the minutes and he'll decide that they don't need me and I can go back to my old job.
With the jackass gone he's not there to distract me from my job. My job depends on people keeping their word. It depends on them showing up for their shifts. It depends on them being willing to cover holes in the staffing when someone calls in sick. It depends on the fucking generous nature of the shit-eating assholes. (To be fair, there are several really great nurses there who do come in for their shifts and work hard and well and fill behind others during the same shift, but the vast majority of the time they are unwilling to volunteer any extra time when the fuckheads call in sick on a motherfucking holiday because they're fucking assholes. (You'll have to pardon me.)) And that's been my experience this week.
When something goes wrong I'm not blamed, but I'm the first person that's turned to to solve the problem. "What's happened?" I'm asked. "What's your plan?" I'm asked. "Do you think we'll have to mandate someone to hold over?" I'm asked. "What are you going to do about it?" I'm asked. Oh, did I mention they ask these questions right after they get off the phone with the sick person and turn to me and say that the person just called in sick? No? Well, they expect me to have everything ready before the person calls in sick. To have someone waiting in the wings to be ushered on stage just in case the star isn't there. I'm sorry, though, this isn't the theater and the only understudies we have are at home and need plenty of notice because, guess what, when they're not on stage they make plans of their own to be elsewhere.
And so, when I go through days like this, I'm exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. I'm odd, I know that. For some dumb-ass reason I have this faith that most people are generally good and want to help out and make things easier for the people they work with day in day out. I don't know where this faith comes from. Everywhere I look when I'm around people I see the asshole-ish nature of the majority of them. I see how selfish and greed they are, but I keep fucking believing that they want to help, maybe not some faceless stranger, but that they want to help the fucking assholes they see every fucking day.
Shit. I'm sorry. I'm tired. I'm upset. I'm sick of the bullshit. I'm sick of not feeling secure. I'm sick of living in my parents' house because I want out of this job so much I'm willing to move again.
I'm just... I don't know, but I am.
Have a happy fucking new year.